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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843170">friction</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully'>kittenscully</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fictober 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The X-Files</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bickering, Developing Friendships, F/M, Fluff, Post-Episode: s01e12 Fire, Season/Series 01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:08:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The unexpected thing is how at ease he is with her inhabiting his space alongside him, stretched out in his desk chair or cross-legged on his couch. Like a friend, not just a partner. Someone who fits, almost seamlessly, into his nontraditional version of home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fox Mulder/Dana Scully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fictober 2020 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>friction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: "Sometimes you can even see..."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Within the bounds of his apartment walls, Mulder tries to keep his own little world comfortable. Nothing too classy, no uncharted open space to explore. Never complete silence, peace always interrupted by the soft bubbling of the fish tank, the low hum of the TV or the radio. Bedroom locked away, a futile attempt at warding off bad dreams of Samantha.</p><p>He likes clutter, but not mess. Various items of interest to keep him occupied, scattered around haphazardly. A space carefully curated, but not carefully arranged, so no one would know how much thought he’d put into it upon first glance.</p><p><em> Bachelor pad, </em> Diana had defined it, rolling her eyes disdainfully like he imagined his mother might, had she ever thought to visit. Diana hadn’t deigned to move in, hadn’t even liked to stop by, but he was never willing to abandon it, too attached to the bubble of comfort he’d created for himself. </p><p>So there they were, at an impasse, her lounging in the maroon-draped four-poster she never invited him to for longer than a night at a time and him uncomfortable with the way the darkness lurked in every corner of her sparse, regal apartment.</p><p>“You’re like an unwelcome guest in your own home,” Diana had murmured. His head had been on her naked stomach, hand playing absentmindedly with her silken sheets. “And you’re nearing on thirty, Fox. If you cared for a real life, you’d have a house by now. <em> We’d </em> have a house by now.”</p><p>She’d been wrong on every level, but he hadn’t said so, preferring to go with her version of the narrative when the only alternative was accepting that she really didn’t seem to know him at all.</p><p>“Then I guess I don’t care for a real life,” he’d told her instead. </p><p>She’d lifted his head off of her then, and turned her back, but not before he caught a glimpse of the ugly sneer on her mouth.</p><p>Mulder’s refusal to <em> grow up</em>, as she’d said, was by all accounts the reason she’d left him for Europe. And it wasn’t like the abandonment didn’t hurt. But he hadn’t exactly pushed himself to accommodate her, hadn’t really mourned his inability to compromise. Losing her had seemed inevitable, ultimately, and worth it, if he got to keep his X-files and his quest. And his apartment. </p><p>Now, as he lies flat on his back on the old couch that Diana had hated so much, head twisted to stare up at Scully’s bright little face, he doesn’t even think he can be bothered to miss his ex. Even though the recent reunion with his first long-legged, dark-haired girlfriend has gotten him thinking about her again.</p><p>“The really interesting thing, though,” Scully’s saying, “Is that the only proven way to generate that kind of heat is through friction. That’s how people start fires, you know.”</p><p>“Well, there’s electricity,” Mulder says. “Like a car’s ignition.”</p><p>“People can’t generate an electromagnetic current on that scale, Mulder,” Scully says, looking incredulous at best. She’s sitting at his desk, her elbow resting atop an open file, plump cheek squished up against her fist. </p><p>“Actually, I’ve got several X-files surrounding electromagnetic interference that appears, by all accounts, to have been sourced from various individuals.”</p><p>When she’d been assigned as his partner, he’d constantly nudged her with the paranormal and unexplained partially just to annoy her, maybe to get her to give up on working in the field. It hadn’t worked, though. She’d surprised him by engaging, every single time, and now, he can’t quite explain why he keeps it up. </p><p>“Well,” Scully says slowly, and he can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Even if that were possible, there were no such examples of electromagnetic interference at any of the L’Ively crime scenes.”</p><p>She lifts her chin, the hint of a mischievous smile on her lips, certain that she’s gotten the jump on him now.</p><p>He supposes that he keeps arguing with her because she always takes him seriously, albeit under specific conditions. A determined, methodical researcher, working his insanity into her hypotheses. Determined to make him concede at all costs, explaining the scientific faults or situational irrationality in his ideas, rather than rolling her eyes and dismissing them.  </p><p>“Scully,” he says, feigning fascination, propping himself up on one elbow. “You never told me you were familiar with examples of electromagnetic interference. Are you a paranormal investigator in disguise? Are <em> you </em> the one they’re gonna call? A ghost –”</p><p>“Mulder,” she cuts him off, clearly trying to hide her amusement. “Regardless of the source of my knowledge, the only electric current present at that final standoff was the remnants of whatever spark lingered between you and Inspector Green.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure there was anything left there,” he tells her, with a long sigh. He shoves away the memories of Phoebe as soon as they come, then the ensuing memories of Diana, searching for a way to distract. “Maybe the spark was between you and me all along.”</p><p>He wiggles his eyebrows, getting a nervous but delighted little laugh out of her. They do seem to generate friction, him and Scully. Always rubbing opposite ways, but ending up creating something unexpected, both of them left streamlined, changed for the better from the conflict.</p><p>“You’re crazy, Mulder,” she tells him, but she’s smiling, and he can tell she doesn’t mean it.</p><p>Closing the case file, she leans back in his chair, taps her fingertips on the desk. Mulder watches curiously as her gaze travels around the room, over his bookshelves, his fishtank, the collection of knick knacks scattered underneath. </p><p>“You know,” she says. “Your apartment is nothing like I expected.”</p><p>“What’d you expect?”</p><p>Even though he knows her to be kind-natured, he’s still more than ready for her to be cruel. She could easily deliver an insult designed to knock him to his knees, or make a condescending comment on his age and how he ought to act. After Diana, after Phoebe, he figures he could take either. </p><p>Instead, Scully surprises him, again. </p><p>“A bachelor pad,” she says, frankly. </p><p>Pushing himself into a seated position, Mulder rubs his forehead, letting out a startled laugh. “You don’t think this is a bachelor pad?”</p><p>“No.” Scully shakes her head, making it clear that there’s no point arguing. “It’s far too clean, for one thing. No bad smells, no layer of dust. And everything is too intentional. You don’t just pile things, and you certainly don’t leave clothing laying around.” </p><p>His gaze moves warily to a pair of socks, abandoned at the edge of the sofa. </p><p>“At least not most of the time,” she concedes. “My point is, you take care of this place. And it feels like a home.”</p><p>Too thrown off to come up with a response, he just stares at her. She gets to her feet, tugs on the cord to raise the blinds and look out the window. </p><p>There’s something distinctly charming by how at ease she is here, in his space, but it isn’t exactly unexpected. After all, she’d seemed comfortable in the basement office almost immediately, had settled into every seedy motel room in mere moments. He figures that she just has a confident air about her, an extra special something that lets her turn any place into somewhere it seems that she’s meant to be. </p><p>The unexpected thing is how at ease <em> he </em> is with her inhabiting his space alongside him, stretched out in his desk chair or cross-legged on his couch. Like a friend, not just a partner. Someone who fits, almost seamlessly, into his nontraditional version of home.</p><p>“I guess I just like the place,” he admits, shrugging. “It was the Gunmen who suggested I move in here, and it was the first time that I didn’t have to share space with anyone else.”</p><p>Scully turns to look at him, and her light eyes are inquisitive and patient, unobtrusive but wise. As if she knows he’s not telling her everything, and is waiting for him to say something more. </p><p>He almost does, seconds away from spilling his guts and confessing all sorts of things about his childhood, his mother walking around in her medication-fueled daydream state, his father just a shadowy imprint in his study. The evident futility of trying to depend on others, the novelty of finding a home that was just his, no ghosts lurking in the corners, no trace of the deliberate silence created by a family who refused to speak. </p><p>Scully’s presence is comfortingly, unfamiliarly stable, and Mulder has the strangest feeling that she can be trusted with anything. </p><p>It’s too soon, though. He’d only met her a few months ago, and he’s learned to be careful the hard way.</p><p>Instead, he points at the window, redirecting her soft gaze.</p><p>“If you look really hard, past the light pollution,” he says, “Sometimes you can even see the stars.”</p><p>He expects a snort in response, certain that she doesn’t trust him yet either, certainly not enough to believe something so unlikely. </p><p>Her expression is skeptical, but she goes up on her toes immediately, stockinged feet delicate on his wooden floor. Braces the heels of her hands on his desk as she peers upwards at the sky, scoping it out with interest, even excitement. As she narrows her eyes doubtfully, hair just a little fuzzy at her temples, emotions worn on her sleeve as always, he’s hit with a sudden, unexpected wave of affection. </p><p>“That can’t be true,” she declares finally, shaking her head. She doesn’t seem annoyed, merely steadfast in her conclusion. As she lowers herself to her natural height, she keeps eyeing the window, as if she’s hoping to be proven wrong.</p><p>“Just wishful thinking,” he admits, turned bashful and shy by her stubborn, enduring trust in him, by how much he likes her. </p><p>“Either way,” she says, sinking back down into his desk chair and shooting him a smile, chin tucked into her neck. “I like the place, too.”  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The full prompt list, along with all my work, can be found at my tumblr @kittenscully!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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